


gotta feelin', gotta feelin' like a paralyse

by Kt_fairy



Series: The brighter sun and the easier lays [8]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxiety, Blow Job, Blow Jobs, Communication Failure, Emotional Constipation, Fluff, Hand Job, Implied Emotional Infidelity, Jealousy, Lingerie, M/M, Misunderstandings, dressing up, gendered panic, look to your emotions you fools
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-06 10:31:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18849259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kt_fairy/pseuds/Kt_fairy
Summary: John rested his hand on his stomach as he considered himself in the mirror. Only a few years ago he had posed half naked for those group publicity photo’s, hair fluffed and make-up on, playing up the decadent queerness of Queen’s imagine. If he could do that, knowing it would end up in magazine’s all over the country, then he could do this with Roger.Edit: I added a second chapter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place during the News of the World tour, and I have stuck in some locations before sections so (myself mostly) know where the hell these boys are.
> 
> There is also a time jump at the end, which is in relation to that throw away line in Listen to the breeze, whisper to me please, that got you all asking for this.
> 
> (there's a short POV switch at one point because that's just how it be sometimes. It's marked to hopefully stop confusion)
> 
> Devereauxing made this happen.  
> HazyDaisy's body language talks have been invaluable.

 

 

 

**-1977**

  

_**Philadelphia, 23th November**_

“What the hell was that all about?” John demanded as the limo pulled away from the venue.

 

“What was what about?” Roger grumbled, slouching down until his knees hit the driver's seat.

 

“You know very well what!”

 

 Roger jutted out his chin, curling his fingers on his thighs as he drummed his heels on the floor.

 

“Roger!”  John narrowed his eyes when Roger stayed silent. “Fine.”

 

 John rooted around in his bag and pulled out a book, leaning against the door to use the streetlights to read by.

 

 Roger remained resolute in his silence all the way back to the hotel, and then had the gall to look upset when John peeled off to go to the bar instead of straight up to their room.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“I think one of our roadies is owed _at least_ an apology drink, don’t you?”

 

“Fine.” Roger pressed his lips together, jaw clenching as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m sure Tony would _love_ to hear more about the range of your bass.”

 

 John held in a sigh as he turned to Ratty who had been trying to give them a wide berth. “Ratty? I may regret this, but can you go and put Tony’s drinks on my room and say it’s a sorry for what happened in the dressing room?”

 

“On your room?” Ratty perked up.

 

 _“Only_ his drinks!” John warned. “I’ll be checking the bill!”

 

 Ratty gave him a sly smile. “Sure boss!” he called, avoiding eye contact with Roger as he scurried off.

 

 John put his hands on his hips and turned to look at Roger. “Am I sleeping in the adjoining room tonight? Or are you going to talk to me?”

 

 Roger opened his mouth, then pulled a face. He nodded towards the lifts, lighting a cigarette while they waited for one and then stood right in the middle of the elevator smoking it as they rode up to their floor in an increasingly heavy silence. He shuffled along behind John as he lead the way to their room, dumping his fur coat on the floor once the door was closed behind them.

 

 John kicked off his shoes and peeled off his jacket, ignoring Roger who let a curl of smoke slip from between his lips while he watched John intently.

 

“Do you like Tony?”

 

 John rolled out the twinge that had been developing in his shoulder over the past couple of gigs. He kept half turned away, ducking his head as he took a moment to try and school as neutral an expression on to his face as he could. Roger was on the brink of kicking off, John could feel it in the air, and he didn’t want to give him the excuse.

 

“Tony is a decent roadie who shares my interest in electronics.”

 

“He was making you laugh.”

 

“...So? Brian makes me laugh.”

 

“Brian doesn’t want to put his dick in you,” Roger spat.

 

“What!”

 

“Tony’s flirting with you. And you’re letting him!”

 

“And you let women flirt with you!” John shot back, a little caught off guard.

 

“It’s not nearly the same.”

 

“Because I’m a man and he’s a man?”

 

“I don’t know!” Roger ground out, beginning to pace. “But in my head it matters.”

 

“So I’m not allowed gay friends?”

 

“Don’t put words in my mouth! And how is leading a guy on being friends?”

 

“I’m not leading him on,” John said shortly. Roger’s expensive coat laying on the floor was starting to irritate him and he went to pick it up, shoving it into the wardrobe because he knew Roger had dropped it just to annoy him _._

 

 Roger laughed as he stubbed out his cigarette. “ _Like I don’t lead women on_ ,” he picked up the carton and shook another one out. “Riiight.”

 

“Don’t turn this on me! Not when you ripped his head off!”

 

“Why are you taking his side?”

 

“Because you’re being _unreasonable!_ ,” John yelled, getting even more annoyed that he had been the first to raise his voice.

 

“I am _not”_ Roger yelled back, never one to be outdone _. "_ I think I have a right to be a little fucking pissed off if you're allowing that bollocks, when you're _it_ for me!"

 

“And you don't think you’re it for me?”

 

“You’ve liked other men before! You’re the only one I ever wanted to fuck! And that’s because I _love_ you.”

 

“Roger…” John fell silent when Roger deflated a little and then changed tack completely.

 

“I know you think I only asked about you dressing up for me because you cutting your hair  _suddenly_ reminded me you're a man." Roger sounded unsure on whether he was stating fact or was trying to land a hit on John. It ended up more of a glancing blow, and it just made John more angry. 

 

“Are you really bringing all that up now?”

 

“It’s important! You think I don’t fancy you as much anymore cause you’re not all dolled up in satin's or have long hair or wear heels all the time!” John couldn’t deny that and wouldn’t insult Roger by trying to, chewing on his lip as he looked away. “You do! I know you do! But it’s not true!” Roger came up to John like he was going to grab his arms, but held himself back at the last moment. “That’s just…I don’t know shit all about what gay people are supposed to find sexy, Deaky.”

 

“I don't think…”

 

“All I know is that I think you're sexy, and I want you to feel sexy. And for us to, you know, have a bit of fun. It fucking backfired, I know! But that's-” Roger scrubbed his hand through his hair and sighed. “There's no way for me to say this and not make you more annoyed...Look. All that? Is my reference for what's sexy and fun, and now that's all mixed up in _you_. _I'm making a shit job if this, no wonder you got so._..”

 

“I think I get it, Roge. I...” John sighed. He couldn't talk about that now, couldn't think about it clearly when he still wanted to strangle Roger. Even so, John liked to think he was humble enough to give a little ground here or there, and apologise when he needed to. “If I’d have known you’d be like - If I’d have known you’d feel like this. I’d have kept things more professional with Tony.” 

 

“So you _admit it!”_ Roger said like a ‘gotcha!’, then seemed to realise he was still angry and scowled.

 

“It was nice to have some attention,” John muttered, feeling embarrassed now as well as annoyed.

 

“I give you attention!”

 

“It’s nice to get some _attention_ in the way women give you attention.”

 

“It’s not the same,” Roger protested again. When John looked at him, really looked at him, he saw that underneath all the bluster and anger, Roger looked a little lost.

 

“How isn’t it, Roge?” He tried to ask gently, and then his simmering temper got the better of him. “Is it because he was being _predatory_ , is that it?” he sneered."That the only  _possible_ way a man could be interested in another one is to fuck them?"

 

 Roger eyed the TV, and John moved to stand in front of it in case it took a trip out of the window. “I don’t know John. _Maybe!_ I don’t fucking...I don’t know what I’d fucking do if you left me.”

 

“I’m not going to leave you, Roger.”

 

“You said to me - you said ‘if you want a woman’...” he swallowed down the crack of emotion in his voice. “When I said you to about wearing those  _fucking_ knickers. You said ' _If you want a woman, I’ll chalk all this up to a nice memory, and you can go and find one_.' What am I supposed to think of - of - of all  _this_ giggling and hushed conversations and  _shit_  if you can just _throw us away_?”

 

 John sat down on the bed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “If you ever want to go, I’m not going to cling to you and stop you. I know you don’t want to, but if you ever did. I wouldn’t. Because you’re my best friend. Before anything, we’re _friends_. And I want to keep that, no matter what.”

 

 Roger dropped down next to him and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why won’t you believe I want to be with you.”

 

“I do. I really do Roge. But this is...I know people who would do anything to fit in and be normal. That you gave it all up for me? I can’t believe that sometimes.”

 

“ _Oi_. I am _perfectly_ normal. And so are you. And so is Fred. And Phoebe. And David. And even sodding Tony.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I gave up nothing,” Roger huffed. “Excuse me while I gag on how fucking overblown and romantic what I’m about to say is - I gave up nothing, and I gained _you._ And, you know, after you, I realised me thinking Robert Plant was a man no-one would kick out of bed was probably a sign…” he shuffled his feet, and then knocked their shoulders together. “I don’t care if you shave all your hair off and only wear suits for the rest of your life. You’re the only one for me.”

 

“I’m sorry about Tony. The last thing on my mind was hurting you.”

 

"I know."

 

"I was being short sighted. I didn't realise it was..."

 

"How could you not realise I'd get upset about it?"

 

 Because Roger was confident. Because he had been the driving force of their relationship. Because anytime anyone had flirted with John before this, Roger had acted like it was a compliment. "I was so set on it being harmless chatting that I didn't realise it could be seen or- or taken another way. By anyone," John said, reaching out for Roger's hand and feeling a swell of relief when he took it. "I am sorry, Roger."

 

"Well, I could've swept in like a...and got all possessive at anytime. So I'm sorry I let it get this far and that I lost my temper. I know you hate that."

 

"It's fine. It's..." John looked over at Roger and found his direct gaze already on him. "I'll talk to Tony, straighten it all out."

 

“Me too,” Roger mumbled. “I should probably go buy him a drink and apologise for all... _that_.”

 

“That’s not a good idea.”

 

“Why?”

 

“He’ll say one thing wrong and you’ll hit him.”

 

“I need to do something,” Roger said, shaking his shoulders out and scrubbing his feet over the carpet. “I’m too riled up to sleep,” he shadow boxed one handed, then glanced at John. “And fucking is definitely off the menu, as we're both still angry and are responsible people?”

 

“Probably not a good idea right now, no.”

 

“Okay,” Roger leant over to stub his cigarette out. “No fucking, no fighting. What else _do_ drummers do?”

 

 John couldn’t help smiling at him. “We can go and annoy Brian?”

 

“ _This_ is why I can’t do without you.”

 

 Roger went to the toilet - he’d been holding it in since before they had left the arena because he had been too angry to pee - while John phoned around trying to locate Brian. He sat on the edge of the bed, spinning the ring on his middle finger around and around while his mind churned over everything.

 

 His conversations with their touring electrician were harmless banter really. Freddie often said racier things to him than Tony had, but then again that was Freddie.

 

 Tony was tall and fair and naturally broad in a way that made up for how skinny he was. He had that very American friendly charm about him, and was interesting enough that John may have allowed him to give him too much attention. He hadn't been trying to make a point, or to get a reaction out of Roger because of everything that happened before they came on tour. Jealousy was an ugly emotion, often harmful, and the only thing Roger’s dressing room outburst had done for John was give him anxious stomach cramps.

 

 Roger had let himself get riled up rather than talk about things, which wasn’t unusual for him, but John hardly felt able to comment on that after his knee jerk reaction to the mere suggestion of lingerie. He hadn’t let Roger explain himself, had not wanted to know anything about it, but now that Roger had managed to piggyback some reasoning onto their argument John had to admit it made some kind of sense.

 

 Ten years ago just flirting with another man could get you thrown in prison, and even now it could ruin your life if people found out. John wasn't sure gay people had the time or the breathing space to find out 'what they're supposed to find sexy' just yet. It was one big learning curve for Roger, for him, for everyone like them, and John could... _understand_ why Roger had brought it up. And that would have to do for now.

 

“Brian’s trying to chat up a local weather girl,” John said when he got off the phone with Gerry.

 

“Oh!” Roger grinned, eyes lighting up. _“Perfect.”_

 

 He turned to leave immediately, but pulled up short when John plucked the back of his shirt. “Yes? Are you okay?” Roger asked, automatically holding on to John’s wrist as his eyes flicked over him.

 

“Yeah, I’m okay. Umm...no promises? But we can talk more about the lingerie thing.”

 

“No. It upset you.”

 

“It did, but…”

 

“Deaky - I don’t want you to if you're not happy about it."

 

“I _know._  But, I _can_ change my mind. It’s not a yes. It’s an ‘I’ll think about it’. Which is what I should have done in the first place, not, you know, bite your head off."

 

"You shouldn't beat yourself up for that. You yelled at me, I almost threw a bottle at a roadie. We fucked up, we've talked...it'll be okay. You don't need to make it up to me or owe me or anything."

 

" _If_ Iprance around in women's underwear it won't be to make you feel better," John snapped, then immediately regretted it. This Tony situation had muddied waters;  these two issues that had twisted together need to be untangled before they could try and work any of this shit out. "It'll be because I've chosen to do it," he said more calmly, wishing he still had his long hair to hide behind. 

 

"Okay, okay," Roger soothed. He looked like he was going to say something else, then thought better of it. “Okay,” he hesitated, then pecked John on the lips. “Let’s go piss Brian off.”

 

 

* ***** *

####   _Philadelphia, 24th November_

 

“Hey John,” a familiar deep voice called, and John couldn’t help glancing at Roger before smiling up at Tony.

 

“Hi. How are you?”

 

“Not as sore as Ratty,” he smiled, nodding over to the piano where Ratty was obviously trying not to look hungover. “He was drinking ‘em like they were his free drinks.”

 

“I bloody knew he would.”

 

“No bad thing to have a roadie owing you one,” Tony winked as he bent to check the connection for John’s stage monitor. John took a half a step away, the back of his neck heating like Roger was staring at him but he didn’t dare check. “You didn’t need to do that by the way.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Apology drinks.” Tony sat back on his heels, pushing his hair out of his eyes, “I’d get all defensive if you were mine too.”

 

“Shit like that is why you got yelled at in the first place!” John hissed, wanting to put more space between them but not wanting to look guilty.

 

 Tony brushed his knee’s off as he stood. “I didn’t realise it was quite so...uhh…”

 

“Serious?”

 

“No. Exclusive.”

 

“Oh. Yeah. We don’t tend to...there’s no, you know, other people. Yeah,” John lent his wrists on the body of his bass and fidgeted. “Sorry if I led you on. I really didn't mean to.”

 

“Forget about it. I knew it was harmless flirting,” Tony would have usually squeezed John’s elbow then, but he kept his hands carefully to himself. “Neither of us are the kind of person to fuck who we work with. Or should I say _casually_ fuck who they...”

 

“Watch it,” John smiled, jokingly wagging his finger at him. “Just because Roger yelled at you doesn’t give you a free pass!”

 

“It’s not an experience I would ever like to repeat.”

 

“I am sorry I let it get that far.”

 

“Just because he got angry doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

 

“Oh, I know.”

 

“Good,” Tony opened his mouth, then nodded curtly. “I’ll let you get back to soundcheck,” he said, giving John a tight lipped smile as he disappeared between the amps.

 

 John watched his retreating shoulders for a moment, then finally looked over at Roger. He was standing behind his drum kit deep in conversation with Freddie, neither of them doing a very good job of acting like they hadn’t been watching that exchange.

 

 They were probably talking about him, and John tried not to mind. It was healthy, John thought, to have someone to ask advice of, to share thing’s one probably shouldn’t with, or maybe even mutter a couple of complaints to. And especially Roger, who sometimes acted like suddenly falling for a man was the easiest thing in the world. Having someone love you back didn’t make everything make sense overnight, not in the real world.

 

 If gossiping with Freddie helped Roger with it all, then good! It was a good thing, John told himself, even as the size of the arena seemed to stretch out forever from where he was standing on the stage, just a skinny, vaguely stressed man with a slightly out of tune bass.

 

 John was chewing on his bottom lip when Freddie, who was still talking to Roger, caught his eye. Roger glanced in the direction Freddie was looking, and John turned away to try and hide his blush from the (undeserved, he thought) fond look he was getting from the both of them.

 

 

* ***** *

####  _ Norfolk,25th November_

 

“Rrrright you bunch of _Queens!_ Are we fucking Rrrready to take the virgin out of Virrrginiaaaahh!”

 

“I do _not_ sound like that you fucking bitch!” Freddie laughed, pretending to punch Roger over John’s head. “Brian back me up!”

 

“Welll…”

 

“Oh sod you!” Freddie dropped down into the chair next to John, leaning over to keep out of the way of Roger’s elbows as he worked out the twinge in John’s shoulder. “I don’t sound like that, do I darling?”

 

“Not one bit,” John said with complete seriousness, winching when Roger dug his thumbs into a knot of muscle. “You’re far more rude.”

 

 Freddie threw his head back and laughed. “Dam right I am!” he declared, laughter trailing off a little as his eyes tracked someone moving through the room.

 

 It was Tony, and John smiled at him even as Roger’s grip tightened on his shoulders. Tony nodded back, faltering slightly when his eye’s flicked to Roger before he picked up his pace to hurry out of the room.

 

 Roger’s hands relaxed, going back to working over John’s shoulders that had tensed right back up again. “So after this gig…”

 

“Whatever you just did,” John said slowly and quietly, turning to look up at Roger. “Don’t do it again.”

 

 Roger didn’t try to act innocent, crossing his arms over his chest as he opened his stance. “I was making my position clear.”

 

“I have already spoken to him. It’s sorted out,” John stood, more irritated than angry. “He is also our _employee_. Don’t bully him.”

 

“Yeah, and he should remember that.”

 

 Freddie moved right out of the way when John pulled his shirt back over his shoulders. “You’re above all this.” He turned on his heel, not giving Roger a second glance as he strode off towards the toilet which, besides their hotel rooms, was the only bloody privacy they ever got while on tour.

 

“Well this is nice,” Roger muttered as he locked the door behind him.

 

“I thought you’d like this. Make everyone think we’re having a quickie and really let a bloody  _roadie_ know who's boss.”

 

“Fucking _hell!”_ Roger spat, patting himself down for his cigarettes and swearing when he couldn't find them. “I'm sorry I can't be all calm and relaxed and _nehnehneh_ all the fucking time. I can't help beating my fucking chest every so often, all right!? Like the _stupid_ , emotionally constipated,  _annoying_  drummer I _am_.”

 

 His lovely face was screwed up like an irate child’s, fists clenched at his sides as his bubbling anger tried to fill up the small room. John wasn’t intimidated by him; Roger could throw a brilliant tantrum when he got going, but he was ultimately harmless to people, if not to furniture.

 

 John got why Roger had been annoyed by the Tony thing, that was understandable, but Roger was not one for jealousy. Nor did he let things fester after getting them off his chest. Roger could refuse to face things, bury them down deep like any good Englishman could, but once they were out in the open he’d barrel on like he always did.

 

 For all his current bluster, Roger's clear blue eyes still had that same confused uncertainty that had been there in Philadelphia. John had been too tired and too annoyed at the time to think much of it, but as he looked at Roger now, he thought he knew what this was about.

 

 John had always been anxious, it was just the way he was built, and one of the things he had always loved about Roger was his easy confidence. His warmth not only made him likeable but it put people at ease around him, and he always seemed able to slip in and out of situations without the barrage of "what if's" that followed John around. Roger was confident and bright and filled up whole rooms with his presence, and John never never thought that he could be just as uncertain and overwhelmed by their relationship as John sometimes was. 

  

 This wasn't all because John laughed at someone else's jokes. Or, rather - this had been something Roger had been carrying around for a while, and it had only reared it's head when someone other than Roger (or Freddie) had managed to get John comfortable around them in only a matter of days.

 

“Do you trust me, Roger?”

 

“Of course I do,” Roger scowled. “It's not that I don't _trust_ you. Its that…”

 

“Then believe me when I tell you that I couldn't, wouldn’t, and have never even _considered_ looking at anyone else twice. Not when I have you.”

 

 Roger looked a little taken aback. “What?”

 

“How could I not? You mean the world to me. You're nothing I ever thought I'd have. You're Roger Taylor! The most beautiful person I have ever seen. Talented and caring and so, so good to me…”

 

“You're flattering me!” Roger accused, even though he was starting to blush.

 

“It’s called flirting. People without your big blue eyes and soft smile have to fall back on that.”

 

” _Deaky…!”_ Roger was becoming visibly flustered, unable to keep a smile off his face.

 

“Is it working?”

 

 Roger went for a coy shrug. “...Yes,” he admitted, glancing around the bathroom and then at John. “Sometimes I...I know you love me. And I know you'd never, you know - but I can't help it! Which is stupid because I tell _you_ all the time that you mean so much to me and I _know_ I mean a lot to you. I...”

 

“I know. I know exactly how you feel. But I think that’s natural, when you're putting so much into another person for the first time.” John stepped closer, reaching up to cup Roger’s cheek. “And I'll remember to tell you next time you have a wobble, _that my feelings are true. I really love you._ ”

 

 Roger was as red as he ever got, the smile on his face practically glowing. “Bloody hell, is this what being swept off your feet feels like?”

 

“If bad singing in a bathroom does it for you, then…”

 

“You don’t…” Roger plucked John’s hand off his face, considered it, then kissed his knuckles. “Can't believe I'm being seduced in a toilet in Virginia.”

 

“Only the best for you, sweetheart,” John smiled. He gave Roger a light kiss, and let himself be pulled back in for another sweeter one.

 

"I really need to apologise to Tony now," Roger muttered, kissing John again when he trailed his fingers down Roger's jaw. "You always know just what to say to me. You're so...you're..." Roger balled his fist into the back of John's shirt, holding him tightly before stepping away.

 

 No-one did a very good job of not looking when John emerged from the toilet. He felt horribly awkward and embarrassed by the whole thing, and then Roger came crashing through the door after him.

 

“You are all fucking perverts, don’t you have work to do?” he winked at John as he swept past him. “Crys, piss off and do some work. And you! Don’t worry you’d have known all about it if we’d shagged. Bri! Where is my DRINK!”

 

 

* ***** *

####  _ Maryland, 29th November_

 

 John cracked an eye open, and then closed it again. He rubbed at it to try and make him feel less heavy with sleep, and then huffed a sigh as he sunk back into the pillows.

 

 He tried again a little later, trying to get his eyes to focus on the blonde fluff resting on his chest. John scratched his neck as he peered at his watch, letting his hand fall back onto the bad when he saw they had about half an hour before they were going to be dragged off to talk to the press.

 

 John stared up at the disgusting textured ceiling, absentminded fiddling with a few bits of Roger’s bleach blonde hair as he let his mind drift back to the current...situation.

 

 Things were almost back to normal; Roger was more himself, Tony’s presence was no longer worthy of a reaction, and Crystal had dared to venture a joke about the scene Roger had made in Philadelphia and hadn’t got his head bitten off.

 

 Roger wasn’t talking about it all of course, but it was more out of _‘let’s not bring this up again, let’s get through it_ ’, than _‘if I talk about all of this I might shatter'_. So that was all right, John supposed. He still felt a little bad about the whole thing, and for throwing that fit when Roger had asked about the...the _lacy_ _knickers_.

 

 John knew why he had reacted like that. There was always a voice at the back of his head telling him that he was only palatable to Roger because of how he looked or how he behaved. That Roger could explain away this whole relationship with a ' _it's not that gay 'cause John's not really that much of a bloke, is he_?'. So when Roger had asked him to put on what was basically women's underwear, John may have panicked.

 

 He had always been aware of the fact that he never took up space like the other boys in his school. He filled in gaps, took up the space left for him, never made a fuss or tried to be rough and tumble. He never got teased for it (in fact John had been friendly with most of the boys in his year), and he had thought it was just a part of his natural shyness until he heard the first, " _this is what happens when a boy grows up without a father"_ , comment muttered between his teachers.

 

 John had worked out what that meant pretty quickly, and the things whispered to him years later during one night stands made it abundantly clear why it was that he was the one always being bent over. Not that he had ever minded (much) - there were some things you couldn't change - but he cared so much about Roger. Sometimes when Roger looked at him John felt more love and happiness than he thought was possible. He didn't want what Roger felt for him in return to come with exceptions or excuses about him being a man. For it to have loopholes. And he also really couldn't bare the thought of loosing him because of it.

 

 _F_ _ucking hell,_ John had been too anxious to eat before getting his new, shorter haircut because he was so worried about Roger's reaction to him not looking so - so...fluid. So - for want of a better word - pretty. He need not have worried, of course, because Roger had declared about ten times the following day that John looked lovely and was still absentmindedly petting his hair.

 

 It was his insecurity to work through, John knew that, and he shouldn’t take it out on Roger. Especially not when he always tried to be so considerate. Even when he had brought up the fucking _lingerie_ he had played it down. Had been sat on his suitcase trying to get it closed, his tone light and word’s something that could easily be forgotten, and John had bitten his head off.

 

 Roger was good at asking for what he wanted, and always listened when the answer wasn’t yes. What he wasn’t good at was working out what exactly it was he wanted. John had struggled with that too about - how old was he now, twenty-six? About ten years ago now he had gone through all of this, and he could have done with someone holding his hand and helping him as he worked himself out. 

 

 Not that he was now actually considering doing this just to help Roger out. He had to grow out of this fear, through action or self reflection, because if he ended up letting it damage their relationship John was going to be  _so angry_ at himself.

  

 John sighed deeply enough to make Roger grumble and shift awake. He stretched as much as he could with his head still on John’s chest, and then pushed himself sideways so he could sprawl out on the rest of the bed.

 

“Mnngghhh,” Roger said, rolling over to take a sip of water and grab his cigarettes before flopping out again. “M’not gonna smoke in the bed. Just...getting ready to get vertical,” he rubbed his nose, and then turned to look at John. “Hey,” he smiled, shuffling a little closer when John smiled back. “Good nap?”

 

“Mmhmm.”

 

“Me too,” Roger huffed, laying his head on John’s pillow as he gravitated to his warmth. “Like a fucking log.”

 

 John let his eyes trail over Roger’s gentle profile, wondering for the hundredth time how he managed to get to be here with him. They lay for a moment in content silence, Roger obviously with very little on his mind while John waited for the moment his courage built up enough for him to speak.

 

 “You know my dick wouldn’t fit in them?” Was what he ended up blurting out, which about summed this whole thing up perfectly.

 

 Roger finished the yawn he had been enjoying, then blinked at John. “...are you sleep talking or have I missed something?”

 

“Lacy knickers. They’re not made for dicks.”

 

“I bet there are some,” Roger said conversationally.

 

“What?” John propped himself up on his elbow as he turned to face Roger.

 

“I said I bet there are some made for dicks. People get up to all kinds of shit.” Roger ran the backs of his fingers over John’s cheek. “You look lovely anyway, you don’t need them. Have I told you you’re pretty lately?”

 

“Roger.”

 

“Sometimes I don’t know what jolts more when I look at you, my heart or my dick.”

 

“ _Roger._ ”

 

“I promised you many things, but never promised you good poetry.”

 

“Why do you want it?”

 

“Want what?”

 

“Me to wear…lacy things”

 

 Roger was silent for a while, flicking his matchbox open and closed. “Have you ever seen a dirty men’s magazine?”

 

“I went to an all boys school,” John snorted, thinking back to the moment he had looked at a crumpled image of a half naked woman and realised he liked the look of men better.

 

“All right. So you know how it is, right? Your mate gets hold of one and you all had to go and look at it. It was the first time any one of us had ever seen anyone naked - or mostly naked - and it’s the...that’s been the mark of...that's been the fantasy for me for so long, and I suppose it still is.” He glanced at John and shrugged. “And, you know, why not? I think your legs would look _wonderful._ And I mean, we’re rock stars! Why fucking not,” he flipped the match box open again. “It’s certainly not to trick myself into thinking you’re a girl. I am fully aware of your dick and lack of tits. I appreciate both greatly. And I hope you know that I respect myself and you too much to do that.”

 

“I do know. I do. It’s my...it’s my shitty nervous brain.”

 

 Roger frowned slightly, dropping his cigarettes onto his stomach so he could grab John’s hand. “I’d put ‘em on as well if it convinces you.”

 

“Would you?”

 

“Yeah. You know it’s all just clothes to me.”

 

“Is that why I never see you in a frock?”

 

“I don't have the legs for it, and you know it.”

 

“And I do?”

 

“Have incredible legs? Yes.”

 

 John laughed and flopped down onto his front as familiar voices drifted through from the corridor. He squeezed Roger’s hand, and turned to rest his cheek on the pillow so he could look at him. “Don’t argue with me on this. You can go get them if you want,” Roger’s eyes widened and he kissed John on the mouth. “I might not even try them on! But I will think about it when I see them. Do you even know where to get them from? You know what,” John muttered when Roger went to speak. “I don’t want to know.”

 

 

* ***** *

_**New York, 1st December**_

 

 Freddie was kind and supportive and generous to a fault. He was also nosy as anything, and had the subtlety of a brick crashing through a window.

 

 He had caught sight of Phoebe and Roger trying to sneak through the lobby of the plush hotel they were gathered in, and as soon as he saw the long, flat box in Phoebe’s hands he had demanded to know what was in it.

 

 From the way Roger threw himself in front of Phoebe and tried to distract Freddie, John knew exactly where they had been. He immediately turned back to the crossword he had been puzzling through, hoping that his ability to go unnoticed when he wanted to would hide the furious blush on his cheeks.

 

“Deaky!” Freddie cooed, sprawling over Brian so he could look John in the face. “Do _you_ know what’s in that box?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Oh! Do tell!”

 

“The box is full of none of your business.”

 

“ _Deaky_!” Freddie cried, “Tell me!”

 

 Brian saved the day by muttering, “Please tell him, he’s really fucking heavy,” distracting Freddie long enough for John to make a break for it. He didn’t know if Brian had done that on purpose or not, but John still could have kissed him for it.

 

 John hurried up to Roger and took the box from a very amused looking Phoebe. “Thank you so much, I’m so sorry. If Freddie asks…”

 

“I didn’t enter the shop,” Phoebe smiled. “I just took Roge there and waited outside. I have no idea what is in that box.”

 

“Thank you so much,” John said in a rush, holding the box against his chest as he turned to Roger and told him he was putting it in their room.

 

 He had meant to just shove it into a bag and run back downstairs, but in the lift he had weighed the box in his hands and found it to be so light that his curiosity was peaked.

 

 He took off the plain cardboard sleeve and set the plain black cardboard box down on the bed. It had no logo’s or brand name on it at all, in fact it looked completely inconspicuous - much to John's relief.

 

 John flexed his hands at his sides before carefully taking hold of the lid and shaking it off of the box. Inside was white tissue paper with faint splotches of green showing through that made John feel nervous and relieved all at once. If they’d been black, or red, or - God forbid - bright pink he knew he’d have run a mile. He looked at the tissue paper, reaching out to carefully peel it back with a muttered curse at himself.

 

 The first things he found were a pair of stockings that were so soft and felt shockingly delicate in his big hands. He could almost see through them when he held them up, and felt his face heat as he remembered all the times Roger had said he liked his legs. Next was something made of mossy green silk and trimmed with cream lace that had elasticated straps coming off it, and it took John a moment to realise it was some kind of belt to hold the stocking’s up.

 

 Underneath that was a pair of lace panelled briefs made of the same fabrics as the belt thing. Laying next to them was a pair of black cotton briefs like the ones John wore every day but felt so much more expensive than the ones he bought in packets from Marks and Spencers.

 

 It was Roger giving him an option of comfort, John realised. To give him a middle ground option in case all the lace and the delicacy of those knickers were too much for him. It was a small gesture full of so much care that John had to swallow down a lump of emotion in his throat as he touched the impossibly soft stockings again. 

 

 Wasn’t it just like that bastard Roger Taylor to make you fall even more in love with him because of _underwear._

 

 

* ***** *

    _ **New York, 2nd December**_

“Hey, Deaks?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I think you’re looking really sexy.”

 

“What’s brought this on?” John smiled, leaning into Roger in the darkness of backstage.

 

 Roger grinned, immediately slipping his arm around John to palm at his hip. “Just wanted to put it out there,” Roger said, pouting when John glanced around to see if Tony was nearby. “Hey!”

 

“What?”

 

“I saw that!”

 

“Sorry," John tugged at the black scarf Roger was using as a belt for his ridiculously tight tiger-print trousers. "I think you’re looking very sexy too.”

 

 Roger looked far too proud of that for someone who was fawned over wherever he went. “Well, I should think so too," he grinned, glancing at Freddie who was watching them like a benign god. “I..." Roger looked back to John, dropping his voice as he held John a little tighter. "I don’t want you to not be friends with Tony- especially not on my account. But if you want attention then I want to be the one giving it to you. Mainly.”

 

“Okay,” John grinned, pecking Roger on the cheek. “I’ll remember that.”

 

“I’ll be looking at your arse all gig.”

 

“How will you see your cue’s?”

 

“I think you’d know by now how good I am at multitasking.”

 

“I’m so pleased I heard all of that,” Crystal said from right next to them. “Isn’t it great that I get to spend the next hour behind the drum kit with you and your semi.”

 

 Roger tried to glare at Crystal, but when John laughed he couldn’t seem to keep a smile off his face. “Why are you listening, then?”

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realised backstage at Madison Square Garden’s was private?”

 

“Hey Deaky,” Roger said, turning back to John with a glint in his eye. “Wanna cum behind my riser during Bri’s solo?

 

“I’ll wind your seat down!” Crystal hissed after them as they followed Freddie out on to the stage.

 

 

* ***** *  

    _ **New York,3ed December**_

 

 There was nothing sexy about how this felt.

 

 John had nicked his knee while shaving his legs this morning and it was stinging faintly. The lace was itchy, the belt was pressing into his hips, and then there was the underwear!!

 

 Roger and his fucking ideas! God know’s what he had seen, or read, or who he had been talking to! Or were the hell Phoebe had found all this (John really didn’t want to know how Phoebe had known where to get this). All he knew was that he was wholly unsurprised that this was something available in _New_ bloody  _York_.

 

 He looked around the bathroom, and then carefully got up onto the closed toilet seat so he could see himself. He didn’t look terrible, in fact he was mildly impressed by how nice his bum looked, and his legs.

 

 John ran his hand over the suspender belt, liking how the silk felt when it was warmed by his skin. In fact, now that it wasn’t pinching his stomach while he pulled the stockings on, he didn’t mind how form fitting it was. It felt like his stage flares, or, he thought with a blush that he watched spread up his own neck, Roger’s hands holding him.

 

 John rested his hand on his stomach as he considered himself in the mirror. Only a few years ago he had posed half naked for those group publicity photo’s, hair fluffed and make-up on, playing up the decadent queerness of Queen’s imagine. If he could do that, knowing it would end up in magazine’s all over the country, then he could do this with Roger.

 

 He didn’t know what image Roger had in his head, but he thought he might like this… there was certainly nothing for John to worry about in regards to being mistaken for anything other than a man.

 

“Christ _sake,”_ he growled, shoving his hand into the knickers and wishing he had called up one of Freddie’s drag queen friends to ask them how to get his dick in order.

 

 

* ***** *   

    _Roger_

 

 Roger bounced on the end of the bed, kicking his heels against the floor while he stared at the bathroom door.

 

 Roger had picked the lingerie out himself, thinking about comfort and what colours might look good next to John’s skin and, most importantly, what he might actually wear. And as John was actually trying them on, he thought he had done quite a good job of it.

 

 He had been excited right up until the bathroom door closed. And now he was nervous. Not because he thought John might back out at the last moment, that was well within his rights. But what if John was doing this just because Roger wanted it, or subconsciously because of the whole Tony thing? What if John trying this made all his “you liked me best when I looked more like a girl” worries all the sharper? What if those worries turned out to be true? Oh fuck, Roger would never forgive himself!

 

 All that was pushed aside when the door opened and John stepped out, a grin on his face that was as jaunty as the way he was leaning on the door frame. The mossy green knickers hugged his hips just right, and the lace of the suspender belt lay perfectly over the pale, smooth skin of his waist. The straps of the suspenders were pulling slightly on the top of the sheer stockings as his legs were so long, and strong, his calves curving so beautifully, and his thighs…!

 

“My balls are held in by will power alone, by the way. If I move too much they're just going to fall right out.”

 

 Roger dragged his eyes up from the way the band of the stockings were digging into the muscle of John’s thigh and up to his face. “You feel okay?”

 

“I don't hate it. And I can tell you like it,” John shrugged, cocking his hip as he played up the coyness. “Want a twirl?”

 

“Yes.”

 

 Roger pressed the heel of his hand against the front of his boxers as John turned slowly. The suspender belt accentuated the narrowness of his waist and length of his back, something Roger would have appreciated more if his eyes hadn't been lead downwards by the straps. The moss green silk hugged John's pert little arse perfectly, the gentle lace trim accentuating the curve of it.

 

 Roger had to remember to snap his mouth shut when he jumped to his feet, crossing the room by the time John had turned back around. He pressed John against the door frame as he kissed him, probably grabbing his waist a little too hard just to feel the lace against his palms.

 

“If you don't want to fuck in them that's fine... _fuck_ ,” he flexed his fingers over John’s sides. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

 

 John laughed, and then saw something in Roger's eyes that had him sobering. “After all this, you'd not fuck me in them?”

 

“This is enough. More than enough,” Roger flexed his hands against John's sides again and moved them down to brush against the silk knickers. “We can call it curiosity satisfied. And I’ll just shag your brains out anyway, because you’re enough without all this. And I don't...”

 

“Well,” John huffed. “I _could_ put them back in the box, and decide never to get dolled up like this ever is again. Or you could get your money's worth? Either way you’re helping me get these fucking thing’s off.”

 

 Roger looked over John, pretending to think about it as he ran his finger under one of the suspender straps. His knuckle brushed against John’s skin and he watched John’s stomach clench as he tried to hold back a sharp intake of breath.

 

 He didn’t manhandle John to the bed, because he hated that, but Roger did grab his hips and steer him over to sit on the edge of the bed. John laughed as he bounced slightly on the springy mattress, legs falling open to let Roger stand between them.

 

 Roger pushed his fingers through John’s wonderfully fluffy hair, tracing the curve of his ear and the line of his jaw. There was heat in John's eyes when he looked up at Roger, calloused fingers trailing down his bare stomach to the band of his boxers. Roger caught John's wrists when he made to pull them down. He smiled at the slightly confused look on John's face when he kissed his knuckles, biting down a laugh at the surprise on John's face when he dropped to his knees.

 

 He sat back on his heels, resting his hands on John’s feet and curling his finger’s to stroke his arches. John hissed, making to pull his feet back but Roger held him still. “Sorry,” Roger grinned, even as he did it again.

 

"No your not," John muttered, giving his shoulder a light shove.

 

 Roger traced the shape of John’s ankle bone, the line of his achilles, and then smoothed his hands up the curve of his calves. The stocking’s were soft and delicate, and Roger was careful to not catch his calluses on them (there was already a ladder running up the inside of John’s ankle, but he didn’t mention it). He traced the shape of John’s kneecap and the tendon running along its side, smiling when he ghosted his fingers under John’s knees and it made him gasp.

 

 John was gripping onto the sheets when Roger reached his inner thighs. He let one hand carry on its way, laying kisses at random along John’s other leg until he reached the top of the stockings. John’s leg’s tensed when Roger touched his bare skin, his breathing coming out hard when Roger ran his lips over the soft skin above the band that was pressing into his skin.

 

 Roger sat back, slipping his finger under the suspender strap and pinging it so it cracked against the delicate skin of John’s thigh. He jerked and swore, kicking Roger with his heel even as his fingers dug into the edge of the bed.

 

 Roger smoothed his thumb over the pink skin in apology, eyes dropping from the breathless look on John’s face to the damp smear on the knickers that were barely containing his dick.

 

 It wasn’t that Roger didn’t like sucking dick, it was that he knew he wasn’t brilliant at it and his ego could make him selfish. But sometimes, like now, the thought it was so sexy only an outright no from John would’ve stopped him.

 

“I’m going to suck your dick,” Roger informed John as he reached for the straining fabric, unable to hold in a laugh when all John could do was let out a strangled moan.

 

 

* ***** *

    _John_

 

 John didn’t want to pull Roger’s hair too hard, but every time he circled his tongue around the head of John’s dick he had to grab onto something or else he was going to cum.

 

 He had been on edge just from Roger lavishing attention on his leg’s, and had been trying to keep himself under control from the moment Roger had pulled the knickers down just enough to get John’s cock in his mouth.

 

 Roger dropped his head until his soft lips met the hand he had wrapped around the base of John’s dick. John gasped when the head slid against the top of Roger's mouth, gasping again when Roger adjusted his jaw to take in a little more of him with a moan. John breathed hard, clutching onto Roger for dear life as he watched his head bob in his lap.

 

 Roger dragged the blunt nails of his free hand along the bare skin of John’s thigh until they hit the stockings and then he smoothed his fingers down John’s legs. The silk was fine and smooth, and John shuddered at the feel of it moving even the tiniest bit against his skin.

 

 He loosened his grip on Roger’s hair when he pulled back a little, mouth and tongue working over the tip of John’s cock while he jacked off the rest. John let out a whine without even meaning to, hip’s jerking of their own accord. He was about to apologise when Roger bobbed his head with a swirl of his tongue, pulling off of John’s cock with a pop as he started to jack him off hard and fast.

 

“Want to cum in my mouth or on my face or what?” Roger asked. His soft voice had turned rough and gravelly, his flushed face almost as red as his lips that were wet with spit.

 

“Oh fucking _hell_ _,_ ” John panted, only managing to hold Roger’s burning gaze for a few seconds before he tipped his head back. Roger squeezed John’s ankle, sunk his teeth into his thigh, and demanded he look at him, but John only let his head roll forward again when he felt Roger’s tongue on the head of his dick.

 

 He ended up cumming mostly over Roger’s hand, having pulled Roger's head away from his dick just when he felt his stomach start to clench.

 

 John petted Roger’s head very gently as he caught his breath. Roger pushed into his palm then pulled away, cocking his eyebrow when he licked the cum from his fingers.

 

“Fuck _,”_ John breathed, only not collapsing back on the bed because Roger grabbed him by the front of the suspender belt. “ _Fuck_.”

 

“A bloke could almost be flattered.”

 

 John blew out a hard sigh, grabbing Roger’s hand and wiping it on the sheets before he could lick any more cum off it. “How do you want me?”

 

“Well, depends on if you still want this on,” Roger said, giving the suspender belt a little tug.

 

 John considered himself a moment, un-tucking the knickers from behind his balls to cover himself up when he started to feel a little ridiculous. “Don’t feel as sexy now I’ve cum.”

 

“I can have a good time taking it all off then, if you want?.”

 

“I...no it's okay.”

 

“It’s not sexy if it’s uncomfortable for you.”

 

“Roge," John murmured, ducking down to pull Roger into a one, two, three soft kisses. "The only discomfort I'm ever going to go through for your dick is sitting on the tour bus after you’ve shagged me.”

 

 Roger looked incredibly pleased with himself, tried to feign innocence, then grinned. John watched Roger's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard, his bright eyes trailing over John as he rubbed his dick though his boxers.

 

“Deaky?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Can you stand up?”

 

 John put a hand on Roger’s shoulder to steady himself as he got to feet. Roger sat up on his knee's once John was steady, pressing his lips to the inside of John's wrist when he touched Rogers soft cheek before turning his attention to kiss over the slip of John’s stomach above the knickers. He curled his hands over Johns thighs and squeezed, smoothing them up to trace the edges of the suspender straps before flicking one open.

 

 He undid the other one, then encouraged John to turn around. He felt exposed without being able to see Roger, was suddenly very aware of how big and empty and soulless this hotel room was. That was the moment wide hands grabbed his arse and squeezed, and John almost laughed at Roger’s timing.

 

 Warm kisses fluttered over the small of John’s back while Roger fumbled with the last strap, making a triumphant noise when he got it undone. “Take this off,” Roger mumbled to himself, tugging down the sides of the knickers and letting them drop down John’s legs for him to step out of.

 

“This okay?” he asked, attaching the straps back onto the stockings and arranged them just so over the curve of John’s arse.

 

“Yes,” John breathed, eyes falling to the lube laying on the bed. He glanced back over his shoulder at Roger who was wiggling out of his boxers and tapped his leg with is heel to get his attention. He raised an eyebrow when Roger looked up at him, and then put one knee on the edge of the bed as he bent over to grab the lube.

 

 His almost laughed at the noise Roger made, the sound catching in his chest when Roger grabbed his arse and two blunt fingers pushed inside him. “Do you have any idea…” Roger muttered, tongue joining his fingers rocking into John as he snapped one of the suspender straps hard against John’s ass.

 

 John’s toes curled when Roger found his prostate, gasping at every nudge of a fingertip that had pressure building in his abdomen. Roger didn’t keep it up for long, giving John’s arse one last squeeze before slipping his fingers out of him.

 

 Hands grabbed John’s hips and he let himself be pulled down so he was half sat in Rogers lap, back against his chest and Roger’s dick nudging his arse. “Do you...thank you,” Roger murmured as he slipped the lube from John’s hands.

 

 John got comfortable kneeling on the carpet while Roger ran a hand from the suspender belt down to his thigh, then up his back to press between his shoulder blades. John leant forward to hold onto the end of the bed, palming his half hard dick when Roger pressed against his back.

 

“If I wasn’t so desperate to fuck you, I’d be doing all sorts of things to you right now.”

 

“What you’re doing is enough for me as it is,” John breathed, pulling Roger’s hand off his hip to grasp his half hard dick.

 

“ _Fuck,”_ Roger growled, squeezing John’s dick as he pushed into him.

 

 John breathed through the pressure, bowing his back to push into it. It didn’t always feel all wonderful and perfect, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like it, and he groaned when Roger’s hips met his arse.

 

 He buried his face in the bed when Roger started to fuck him, gasping when Roger grabbed onto the suspender belt and used it to pull John back onto his cock. He faltered for a moment in the rhythm he was setting, and John moaned as a shiver went through him. He felt Roger adjust his hold on the belt, and without missing a beat he fell into that slightly slower rhythm that made John feel like his breath was being forced out of him.

 

 Roger wasn’t good in bed because of his stamina, or the size of his dick, or his filthy mouth (which all helped). It was his consideration. Not just for if he was hurting you, but if you liked something he’d do it until you were driven out of your mind. And he liked it, he got off on getting you off, and it made John want to melt into whatever he was being fucked in to every time.

 

“What I’d do for some coke right now,” Roger muttered, giving John’s dick another squeeze. “I’d fuck you all night.”

 

 John didn’t have anything to say to that as a tingle ran up his spine. He didn’t know if Roger could sense it, but he followed the tingle with his tongue, licking up between John’s shoulder blades to press his face into John’s hair. “Perfect,” Roger ground out, taking his hand off John’s dick to snap one of the straps against his arse again.

 

“Shit, shit, shit,” John chanted, working his fist over his own dick. He was going to cum twice before Roger had even cum once, and he didn’t even care if that was selfish or not.

 

 Fingers slipped into his hair and John sighed when Roger tugged slightly. He didn’t fight it when Roger carefully pulled his head back and to the side, Roger’s rough voice whispering, “open your eyes,” just as John did just that.

 

 The mirror on the wardrobe was almost in view. John could see see himself, skin blotchy pink and sweaty, the narrowness of his waist and the shape of his thigh accentuated by what he was wearing. As was the curve of his arse that was red from Roger’s hips smacking into it as he drove his dick into him.

 

 He didn’t spend long looking at himself, eyes drawn to Roger who’s faintly tanned skin was flushed with effort, the spare, elegant muscles of his arms and shoulders glistening with sweat. John’s eyes traced over the reflection of Roger’s backside and his legs that tensed every time he bottomed out, up over his heaving ribs to meet his bright blue eyes that were locked onto John.

 

“Like what you see?” Roger panted, making a point of undulating his back with every thrust of his hips. He grinned when John moaned, keeping his eyes on him when he nuzzled into John’s hair. “I like what I see,” he murmured, smoothing his hand down John’s side until he got to the ladder one of the straps was pulling in a stocking.

 

 Roger’s hold on John’s hair was light enough that he could look away if he wanted, but he didn’t want to. He kept his eyes’s on them both until he sagged, exhausted and shagged out, into the mattress, Roger panting against his skin as he took his time fucking out his own orgasm into John.

 

 

“Hey,” Roger said softly once they were flopped out on the floor, heads pillowed on the coverlet he had pulled off the bed.

 

 John blinked out of the doze he had been slipping into, stretching into the satisfying, muscle deep ache. “Mmhmm,” he rolled his head to the side, nuzzling against Roger’s chin until he moved to kiss him.

 

“You’re wonderful, you know that?”

 

“Mmmm,” John hummed, giving Roger another peck on the lips. “You’re the one who made me cum twice, so.”

 

“I did, didn’t I?” Roger grinned, giving John another slow kiss as he ran his hand down his side. “What this off?”

 

 John nodded, helping to fumble open the fastenings on the suspender straps and then shifting onto his side so Roger could fight with the hook and eye’s on the back of the belt.

 

“Thought you’d be good with them,” John murmured, smiling when Roger nipped at his shoulder.

 

“For some reason, I’ve become very out of practice,” he said with a smile clear in his voice.

 

 John rolled onto his back again when Roger had finally got it off him, peering down at the faint red mark at his waist that Roger was running his fingers over. “Did you like it?”

 

“I did.”

 

 John looked at him, pushing Roger’s sweaty hair off his forehead as he watched the cog’s turn in Roger’s brain. “Did you enjoy it as much as you thought you would?”

 

“Ye...I’m not sure,” Roger pressed a kiss to John’s shoulder. “No, I did. _Shit John_ you’re always so…” he fell silent, breath warm against John’s skin before he picked his head up to look at him. “I liked that you were enjoying it. And you looked like you didn’t mind having having all this on,” he said, picking up the sweat stained, rumpled suspender belt.

 

“I did enjoy it. Didn’t feel as weird as I thought I would. And it felt nice to do it for you. Your...your face when I came out of the bathroom made me feel, you know, more confident about the whole thing. It was a, umm...a bit naughty. A bit _sexy_.”

 

“Good! Good I’m so...that’s good,” Roger nodded, taking a look at the slightly ruined suspender belt. “And it was _really_ sexy. But, it’s not you, is it?”

 

 John shook his head, rubbing at his eyes. “Not really.”

 

“This -” he brandished the suspender belt, tugging on one of the straps, “ -framing your arse was the best thing in the world,” Roger glanced at John and grinned, reaching out to trace the inside of John’s knee. “And your legs in those stockings, _fuck._ ”

 

“Even better than usual?”

 

"Not better! Just...highlighted," he ran his palm up John's thigh. “I’ll probably be up for another go later on,” Roger murmured against John’s shoulder. 

 

“And after that?,” John laughed when Roger squeezed his thigh.

 

“And probably after that as well. You can keep the stockings on if you like?”

 

“I’ll think about it,” John hummed, giving Roger a slow kiss.

 

“You don’t have to.”

 

“I know.”

 

“You’re wonderful, and that was _brilliant._  But I lo...I want to fuck _you._ Boring yellow cotton underwear and all. Not that I'd say no if you ever wanted to try it again," Roger grinned. "I'd say I'd dress up for you if you wanted me too, but I don think that's your thing."

 

"Not really. I like how you look in suit jackets, and shirts that show off your shoulders. And jeans."

 

"Oh yeah," Roger murmured with a smile.

 

"And when you turn up for the encore without a shirt on, all sweaty and..." John trailed off at the look on Roger's face.

 

"Oh I am definitely taking notes, Deaky. Don't you worry," Roger rolled onto his side to kiss John with slow, lazy sweeps of his tongue, trailing off as he stroked over John's sparse chest hair. "I'm happy we did this, and I'm so happy you enjoyed it I might eat you out in a bit. But it's out of my system now, I think,” he smiled, kissing John’s jaw. “Thank you.”

 

“Do _not_ thank me for sex,” John huffed, looking around for the knickers. The silk on those were stained with cum and spit, and they both peered down at the laddered ruins of the stockings.

 

“At least we made a bit of a mess of it all,” Roger said sagely.

 

“Well, we are rock stars.”

 

 

* ***** *

_**Chicago,5thDecember**_

“Hey,” Roger said as he slipped into the booth next to John. His fitted shirt was half undone and showing off his collar bones, suit jacket slung over his arm, and the slightly glassy look in his eyes made it quite clear he was well on his way to being dunk. He was also smiling a big, dopey smile at John, and he couldn’t help grinning back.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Are you enjoying the party?”

 

“I am. And I think you are too.”

 

“Oh yes. But a wo- a woman was chatting me up. So I came to sit with the most beautiful person I could see in the room,” Roger winked at John. “Because I can’t see myself and I am definitely the Most beautiful,” Roger rambled, looking very proud of himself when John laughed. “I also asked Tony to pick up some drinks and come join us.”

 

“You did?”

 

“My friend - no - _your_ friends are my friends,” he leant forward, hand warm on John’s knee. “An’ I like it when you’re happy.”

 

 No matter what Roger did, or wanted to do, or _be,_ his heart was always kind, and John loved that about him more than anything. It was creeping close to midnight and the bar was dark and crowded, so John took a chance and ducked his head to kiss the sweaty shoulder of Roger’s shirt.

 

 Tony sidled up to them, placing one of the beers he was carrying down in front of Roger and sliding a vodka and coke over to John. He hesitated, but at an insistent tap on the table from Roger he sat on the other side of the booth from them. “Smoke?” Roger offered his carton of cigarettes, fumbling out a matchbox to light first Tony’s and then his own.“So. You worked for _The Who_ and _Wings_?”

 

“Yeah. I’m kinda the go to American for you Brit bands it seems.”

 

“How are we to work with compared to them?” Roger asked, his mind always turned towards the music industry even when a bit drunk. 

 

“Oh. Not bad. The amount of free drink’s I’m getting is certainly pushing you up the rankings.”

 

“Now, you see, we’re not above bribery and corruption mate,” Roger grinned, waving his cigarette at John. “Also helps if you make friends with the money man.”

 

 Tony looked to John and shrugged. “He’s worked me out.”

 

“Why’d you think I’m over this side of the table feeling him up!” Roger whisper-yelled, falling about laughing when John whacked him on the arm.

 

 They spent the night talking, moving out to the quieter public bar when Roger declared the after party too loud and too boring. It allowed John and Tony to have a good bitch about the terrible electrical systems some of the arena’s had, getting into a discussion about what Tony had done to stop their lighting rig shorting out half of Ohio. Roger sat quietly smoking and laughing (he had listened to John ramble on enough to be able to keep up), holding John’s hand under the table and squeezing his fingers every so often.

 

“Tony’s nice,” Roger said while they look the lift up to their floor about an hour later.

 

“I'm glad you think so.”

 

“Not as nice as me though.”

 

 He glanced over at Roger who was already watching John with sleepy eyes, smiling slowly around his unlit cigarette when he noticed John looking at him. John shoved his hands in his pockets, glaring at the cctv camera in the corner of the lift that was stopping him from kissing Roger.

 

“Modest as well and stinking rich. What a catch,” John muttered, smiling when Roger’s dry laugh rang out.

 

 It may have taken several arguments, sulks, and maybe breaking a sink while spending their afternoon off fucking all over their hotel room (John was as easily bought by sex as any man) for that storm cloud they had dragged half way around north america to disperse, but it hadn’t done them any harm.

 

 They were young and on tour half the world away from home. If you weren’t letting petty jealousies and insecurities blow out of all proportion and then fucking it out, you weren’t trying hard enough. Or something like that- it sounded a lot more like a Freddie piece of wisdom than one from John himself, but he went with it. 

 

 

* ***** *

 

####  **_1981_ \- **

 

 John sighed, feeling exhausted and not all that much better for having spilled his guts to Freddie.

 

 Sex was sex. People had been shoving their genitals in things, or things in their genitals, for millennia, and John was starting to feel Roger’s frustration that John fucking him had become such a stumbling block for them.

 

 Freddie leant over to scratch down the back of the ginger cat curled up in John’s lap. He was being quite serious about this whole thing - not that John expected him to laugh at him, but Freddie could diffuse any situation with a joke.

 

 John took a sip of his tea, missing the glint in Freddie’s eye when he saw John raise the cup to his lips.

 

“You know dear, if you want to cheer Roger up - take his mind off things- you can always try lingerie...a _pale green_ might look nice on you.”

 

 John almost choked, disturbing the cat who hopped off John’s lap with a disgruntled _mmrrrr_. Freddie turned to look back over his garden again, a smile on his face even as he tried to pretend like John hadn’t almost spat tea all over his cat. “Stockings too. Rog does like your legs.”

 

“Freddie! What the…”

 

“Do a little dance around maybe, shake that nice little butt of yours. I've heard it can do _wonders_.”

 

“Heard from who? No!” John held up his hand when Freddie went to answer. “Who told you about the lingerie _Freddie_?”

 

“Oh,” Freddie shrugged as he casually took a elegant drag on his cigarette. ”Little yellow birdies tell me all _sorts_ of things.”

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> devereauxing and writeyourownlifestory made me do it.
> 
> Set on the I Want To Break Free music video set.

 

**-1984**

 

 _“Oh my **GOD**. Blondie!” _Freddie shrieked, which wasn’t enough to make John pull away from what Pat the makeup lady was doing to him. Freddie shrieked at many things Roger did, and John didn’t like to interrupt a professional at work.

 

 _“_ Soak it up, lads. Soak it up,” Roger drawled, grin audible in his voice

 

“Good...God!” Brian choked. That had John peering over at that side of the dressing room, but he couldn’t see past Brian’s pink nylon nightie.

 

“Fuck me, I might be on the turn.” Freddie announced, which was definitely enough of a statement to have John turning - with a polite smile at Pat - to see what Roger had done to himself.

 

 It took him a moment to realise that the schoolgirl stood in the middle of the room with her arms crossed under...under her _chest_ , was Roger. John blinked at him, then twisted fully in his chair to look at him properly. “What the...what!”

 

 Freddie burst out laughing. “I think Deaky is on the turn too!”

 

 Roger smiled sweetly, cocking his hip and then his head to make the perfect blonde pigtails swing. “How’d I look?” he cooed, then burst into his brash laughter.

 

“You look...convincing?”

 

“You sweet talker, you,” Roger sniggered, short grey skirt swinging as he stomped over to where he had left his cigarettes. “Going to give everyone a really weird boner.”

 

“You assume you don’t, anyway,” Freddie declared, ducking to check his eyeliner in John’s mirror.

 

 Roger snorted, lit his cigarette, then pulled a face. “The gusset is killing me,” he muttered, reaching between his legs to adjust himself in the tights. ”How’d you deal with this, Pat?”

 

“I don’t have a dick,” she said, much to everyone's amusement. “But I’m sure plenty of people would be willing to sort you out, Rog.”

 

 That caused an explosion of wolf whistles and laughter, a couple of crew poking their head around the door and joining in when they caught sight of Roger.

 

 John smiled as he silently watched the commotion. He was glad he was known for being remarkably not-rowdy, because he needed a moment to process how Roger looked.

 

 It wasn't that John was completely nonplussed by women. He could recognise when a woman was beautiful, he had eyes in his head, it was simply that femininity had never done it for him quite like men, and masculinity, did.

 

 John obviously didn't have the same preference for manly, butch men as Freddie did. Roger was famously beautiful, but he wasn’t a pretty, swishy boy either (not that there was anything wrong with that, it just wasn't what John liked.) Roger was undeniably masculine in how he held himself and dressed and behaved, even if he was more soft and brightly coloured about it than most men. And John loved that about him.

 

 Roger could wear the hell out of a pair of tight, patterned trousers and a brightly coloured shirt. And as for the way his some of his blazers sat on his shoulders...

 

 So John was a little surprised that seeing Roger in a skirt had peaked his interest.

 

 He had seen Roger in eye makeup before - they had been glam, once - but never so delicately applied to bring out the size of his blue eyes, nor lipstick bringing out the soft shape of his mouth. Both things that John liked about Roger anyway, so he wasn't surprised by that. It was the _skirt_ that shocked him.

 

 Maybe is was the way it flared over his bum, or how it showed off his legs. Or, John thought as he watched Roger pop his hip and play it up, it was the fun he was having with it. Roger always maintained he had builders legs and hated to have them out in public, but here he was showing off his calves in his long socks, lapping up the attention.

 

 Roger batted his eyes at one of the heckles, and turned to John. He plucked the cigarette from between his lips as if he was going to say something, and paused. His eyes, that were really very blue, flicked over John's face, drawn on eyebrows shooting up towards the silk edge on the wig.

 

"Oh," Roger breathed out a cloud of smoke, grinned, then turned back to the room, pigtails swinging. "Please boys, not in front of granny," he said in a purposefully deep voice. "I'm a good girl."

 

 Freddie hooted with laughter, and Roger smiled as he took a drag on his cigarette, shooting John a knowing wink over his shoulder.

 

 

* ***** *

 

 

 Roger handed his cigarette off to Freddie, making a point of crossing his ankles as he leant back against the fake kitchen counter. He glanced over at John who was listening patiently to Brian, and tipped his head back to show off the line of his throat when he saw John watching him.

 

 That John was liking this look on Roger was certainly a surprise, and judging by the look John still had on his face it was as much of a surprise for him as it was for Roger.

 

 They had all been excited for this shoot. Ridiculously so. Who didn’t like dressing up in a frock and prancing about? Roger had certainly jumped at the chance of being a school girl, and not because he thought that he would like it quite this much. If he _had_ known, Roger would have passed the role onto Brian because he wouldn't want to give grounding to any accusations of this being a homoerotic thing, like they had gotten with the  _Body Language_ video. This was just a bit of appropriate, harmless drag!

 

 He did like it though, and was determined to enjoy it. The pigtails were fun to swish around, and he liked the way he looked in the makeup, and the skirt was also fun; he liked how it moved when he walked or popped his hip. Roger had insisted on black tights under his long white socks to hide his legs - he had never been overly proud of them -  and he found he even liked how they gave his legs some definition and shape.

 

He felt a bit sexy and fun like this. Which was a surprise he was willing to roll with.

 

 John liked men pretty exclusively, so Roger had never expected this costume to do it for him. If Roger asked John might agree to a quickie whith Roger was dressed like this, but sex was always better if everyone involved was enthusiastic about it, Roger always thought. John wouldn’t agree if he wasn’t willing, of course, but it wouldn’t be the same. Or as good. So Roger had been considering just sneaking off at the end of the shoot to have a wank and call it a day.

 

 Then he had caught John staring at him with _that_ look on his face. Roger knew John wasn’t all that aware that he had a _look_ for when he thought Roger was looking particularly good, but Roger knew it well. Very well, in fact, as it usually lead to him getting off.

 

 It was a very nice surprise that Roger wasn’t going to question all that much. Maybe he was simply wearing this outfit _that_ well - it wasn’t like John didn’t think he was hot anyway!

 

“Okay Rog," the director called from behind the camera. "Another take please.”

 

“Another arse shot?” Roger asked, tugging at his tie. “You wanna tell me something, David?”

 

“Only human, Roge," he shot back without missing a beat, peering around the camera so Roger could see the amusement on his face.

 

 Roger turned a joking scowl on the crew. "You need all need to go out and get your leg over with a real bird," he grumbled to everyone's amusement, catching John's gaze as he turned back to the sink.

 

 Roger was playing up the fact he made a pretty girl for a laugh. The reaction to him, and the attention it bought, was fun, of course, but having John’s interest, and attention, made Roger tingle all over, his dick twitching even though it was tucked securely between his legs.

 

"Okay Roger," the director called, "Playback." The opening verse of _I Want To Break Free_ started playing, and Roger bopped his hip to the beat so his skirt brushed against the back of his thighs, only stopping when ‘cut’ was called.

 

 He shook his bum obnoxiously at the camera one last time, and went to go and look at the footage. "I think it looks much the same as the other takes, going to be honest with you David."

 

"Yeah…" he agreed. "Best to make sure though. It’s part of your big reveal."

 

"Do it again anyway!" Freddie called from the other side of the set. "More arse shots!"

 

"Fuck off, Mercury!" Roger yelled back as Brian muttered, "Can we not?"

 

"What does Deaky think?" Freddie asked, sounding oh so innocent in front of the room full of strangers. He had a glint in his eye when Roger peered around the camera to glare at him, poking his tongue out when Roger stuck two fingers up at him.

 

"Yeah, it's your song John. What do you think?" David asked, stepping aside to let John shuffle up to the monitors in his slippers and long black housecoat.

 

 John watched all the takes, looked at Roger with a glint in his eye, and shrugged. "You're in time?" he said, and Roger fell about laughing.

 

 

 The shoot went on without much comment. The only real hitches being Freddie and John laddering their tights constantly, and Brian almost breaking their fake fridge door.

 

 It was the last shot of the day now, or would be if Freddie stopped chatting. Roger flicked the magazine he was supposed to be reading closed and shifted from his chair to flop onto the sofa next to John.

 

 "Fag?" he muttered, going to offer his own when he noticed the lipstick on the filter. "Oh wait…"

 

 "No, its okay," John slipped the cigarette from between Rogers fingers, glanced around, and then held Roger's gaze as he pressed his lips over the pink smears on the filter.

 

 Roger flushed, thought about all the times John's lips had been wrapped around something else, and crossed his legs. He cleared his throat and looked around to see if anyone had noticed, turning back to John when he tapped him on the arm.

 

"You're enjoying being dressed like that, aren't you?"

 

"Yeah," Roger admitted, tipping his head so the pigtails swung. "It is fun. And I think it's highlighting my good bits...well every good bit that's not my dick."

 

 John almost choked on an inhale as he started to giggle, bumping his shoulder against Roger who leant into him. “Nope. Nope not that.”

 

“Don’t think I’d be getting half these looks if they could see my dick,” Roger said under his breath, raising his eyebrows when John shot him a look.

 

“Might get a bit different looks,” John drawled, taking another drag on the cigarette.

 

“Looks of awe you mean?” Roger said with complete sincerity, breaking into a grin when John snorted. “Are you not in awe of my dick?”

 

 John huffed, leaning forward to tap the ash off the cigarette, and said nothing.

 

“I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work,” Roger said airily, leaning in to whisper into John's ear though his grey wig. “Can’t play aloof when you’ve demanded I fuck you.”

 

 Roger sat back with a smug grin on his face, switching his crossed legs and raised an eyebrow at John. He was smiling at Roger, eyes dropping to trail over his thighs and his rucked up grey skirt before meeting his gaze again.

 

“You look good,” he said out of nowhere. “And you’re…” he took one last drag on the cigarette and handed it back to Roger. “You’re being playful and confident. Really, you know, enjoying it. And I like that. Your confidence is sexy.”

 

 Roger wished he had a thicker layer of makeup on, maybe the grey on John’s cheeks to make him look old, to hide the flush that was racing up his neck. Nine years together (ish) and John could still make him blush like a...well, like a schoolgirl.

 

 Roger could still make John blush, but that wasn’t the same. John looked so delightful when he flushed pink, whereas Roger went blotchy like he had just played a drum solo.

 

 He flicked his eyes around the set, noticed Freddie was winding up the conversation, and leant into whisper to John again. “I felt sexy when I put it on. But I felt even more sexy when I noticed you liked it. Have a think about if you want to fuck with me wearing all this.”

 

“Wha-Roger!”

 

“I know neither of us can clean up for arse stuff, but just think about it. I think it’d be fun, be a little wild. Just to say we did it.”

 

“Say to who!”

 

“Just think about it,” Roger said, patting John’s knee as he stood to get back into position. But not before giving his hips a wiggle to make the skirt sway around his bum.

 

 

* ***** *

 

 After filming had ended for the day John had run off to get out of his stuffy, boiling hot costume and scrub the itchy makeup from his face. Freddie was still mostly in costume when he came back from the toilets, his wig and heels were kicked off as he swept around the dressing room handing out glasses of champagne. Brian had his trousers on under his nightie, and Roger, of course, was still dressed like that.

 

 Roger was nodding his head along to the music playing, obviously enjoying the sway of his pigtails. And when he spotted John he began bopping his hip as well, grinning like he knew they were going to end up shagging somewhere.

 

 He had been right, of course, because Roger’s easy, playful confidence really was very sexy. And so where his legs, and his big blue eyes. Which looked even wider and brighter than ever when Roger looked down at John who was sucking his cock.

 

 They had found their way into a empty makeup room, and the lights around the mirror were catching on the sheen of sweat on Roger’s skin and turning his blonde hair into a golden halo.

 

 His hair, not the wig. Roger had pulled that off as soon as John had dragged him into a kiss, dumping it into a chair when he tipped his head back for John to kiss his neck. The tie was undone around his neck, his shirt unbuttoned, and they had somehow managed to get the black bra Roger had been wearing (for authenticity, so he said) off.

 

 He still had the makeup on, although the lipstick was smeared all over his face and probably John’s by now. The tights were pushed down around Roger's shaking thighs, the fabric digging into his skin, and John had pushed the skirt up and out of the way while he sucked Roger off because he thought Roger might be into that. Roger was certainly looking at John like he was.

 

 Roger looked more like himself, even though he was still half in drag, which was working out well for the both of them. Roger, because he was still wearing all the things he’d liked most about his costume, and John because shagging someone who looked too much like a schoolgirl was something he just couldn’t do.

 

 Not that Roger could be confused with one, what with how he was jerking his cock into John’s mouth with every bob of his head.

 

“Ah _fuck_. Fuckin yes. _Yes_. Ah shit!” Roger hissed, hips pressed forward hard and almost jamming his dick down John’s throat.

 

 John didn’t choke, but it was a close thing. He pulled back slightly, sucking noisy on the head of Roger’s cock as he adjusted his hold on Roger’s skirt, smoothing his hand up to hold it flat against Roger’s belly.

 

 Roger moaned, then moaned again when John looked up at him. Roger tipped his head back, fingers curling into the table he was propped up against as a tremble ran thought him.

 

 John dropped his gaze, swallowing around Roger’s cock before slowly taking all of him in again. He stopped when Roger’s public hair tickled his nose, raking the nails of his free hand down Roger’s chest before pulling back.

 

 Roger cried out, dropping his chin down onto his chest to watch John as he opened his mouth and dragged the flat of his tongue up the underside of Roger’s cock. He wrapped his lips around the head and sucked, swirling his tongue around it as he dragged his nails down over Rogers chest again, this time catching his nipples.

 

 Roger swore and grabbed John’s hair. He flexed his fingers to give John a chance to pull away, and then began moving John's head at the tempo he wanted. He stopped applying pressure once John got into his rhythm, his hand a heavy, comforting weight on John’s head as Roger twitched and grunted his way to orgasm.

 

 John, as this was something of a one off occasion, let Roger cum in his mouth. Roger smoked too much for it to taste very nice, which was why John didn’t usually do it, but the noises Roger made when he realised what John had done made it worth it.

 

 He still didn’t swallow, looking around for a bin to spit into before Roger was shoving a handful of tissues into his face.

 

“Shitting hell Deaky,” Roger huffed, sagging back against the table as John spat into the tissues. “Shitting _hell.”_

 

 John waggled his eyebrows at Roger, leaning into kiss over Roger’s stomach under the skirt before letting it flop back down over his cock. John considered the tights that had become all bundled up with Roger’s underwear when John had dragged them down his legs. He wasn’t sure whether to push it all back up or pull the tights off, when Roger grabbed his upper arms and pulled John to his feet.

 

“Do you…” he muttered, grabbing John through his jeans and smiling when John gasped. “Oooh, you do.” Roger slipped his fingers into John’s hair and pulled him in for a kiss, licking into his mouth like he wanted to find all the traces of his cum still there.

 

 John helped Roger when he started to fumble with his fly, sighing into Roger's mouth when he wrapped his hand around his dick. He pulled away, kissing along Roger's jaw and down his neck as Roger jacked him off, pushing his shirt open to kiss over his chest.

 

 He gasped when Roger circled his thumb around the head of his dick, leaving one last nip on Roger’s throat before straightening.

 

“Oh,” he breathed, smiling as he reached out to rub at a faint lipstick mark on Roger’s neck, then looked at himself in the mirror behind Roger's back. “Think I’m wearing most of your lipstick.”

 

 Roger’s hand paused when he peered down at his own chest, then laughed. “And I picked out a Chanel,” he peeled his free hand off the edge of the table to rub at the pink around John’s mouth as he started to jack him off again.

 

 John ducked his head to kiss Roger hard, tugging Roger’s bottom lip between his teeth when he pulled back. “Of course you would,” John murmured, the rough nylon of the skirt dragging against his palms as he held Roger’s hip. “Your eyes look really nice like this.”

 

“Yeah?” Roger smiled, pulling his hand from John’s jeans to spit into his palm before grabbing his dick again. “Like me batting my lashes at you?”

 

“You do that anyway. Everything, your eyes, your mouth,” John kissed him again. “Your legs. Your bum, your playfulness. It’s just bought out today,” John slipped his hand under the skirt to grab his thigh, hips jerking when Roger twisted his hand around his dick. “It’s sexy as fuck _. You’re_ sexy. You’re...fuck _Roger_.”

 

“When we get home I’m going to ride your dick, then fuck you,” Roger said bluntly, the intent clear in his eyes, and John moaned. He pressed his face into Roger’s neck, fingers digging into his hips as his orgasm hit him.  

 

“That’s it. Fuck John. I love with when you like how I’m looking. I fucking love it,” Roger nuzzled into the side of John’s face until John picked his head up enough for Roger to kiss him. “Rooms full of sweaty blokes and pretty makeup girls eyeing me up is nothing compared to you eyeing up my lumpy legs.”

 

“They’re not lumpy,” John panted, squeezing Roger’s legs. “Nothing about you is lumpy. And even if it was, I’d love it anyway.”

 

 Roger grinned, a sparkle in his eyes, and grabbed John’s bum with his clean hand as he kissed him.

 

 They kissed for minutes, lazy and playful, only pulling away from one another when they both remembered the cum drying on Roger’s hand.

 

 They cleaned themselves up as best as they could, but Roger still had that ‘ _I just had my dick sucked_ ’ glow about him, and even after wiping off the lipstick transfer John’s lips were still suspiciously pink. They glanced at one another in the mirror and burst into giggles, Roger looping his tie around John to pull him in for another kiss.

 

“Just think how bad this would look if I hadn’t changed out of costume,” John said as they slipped back into their studio.

 

“Oh I dunno,” Roger sniggered as he hit John with his wig. “You made a pretty sexy granny.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is another Brighter Sun's fic coming this weekend. This is just....a last minuet bonus :))

**Author's Note:**

> So I've taken that awk side eyeing moment in 'Listen to the Breeze...' and made it into a "that thing we did one time that Freddie somehow know's about" moment. 
> 
> It makes sense to me okay.
> 
> This is the same tour that John busted his hand up falling through a glass shower door according to [ the man himself](https://twitter.com/hoopdiddydeaky/status/1084618599795314688) (Not punching a window, as is the misconception) so this fic ended just in time for John to nearly nuke the tour.


End file.
